


Don't Tell Me This Is How We Play the Game

by lunar47



Series: Outlaws on the Run [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, POV Sansa, desperation sex, lots of feelings, no power play, outlaws on the run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunar47/pseuds/lunar47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cheap motel, a virtue lost, a shootout ending in blood…two outlaws continue their journey away from King’s Landing and on to the Eyrie. But what happens when Sansa sees Littlefinger as just a man, just Petyr, not the self-possessed schemer that plans to climb his way to the top of Westeros. And what does that mean for their future when they inevitably have to reenter the game?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Tell Me This Is How We Play the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/gifts), [alissabobissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alissabobissa/gifts).



> The first work in this series was heavily inspired by Marquise's In Such Emptiness. I loved the idea of Petyr and Sansa being outlaws on the run in the desert so much I had to write an homage to it. This piece is a sequel to it but with recent events on the show I needed to give Sansa a voice, agency and even if she doesn't yet have control of her destiny she's at least coming to terms with what needs to be done. Hopefully I accomplished that in light of my previous piece which was entirely Petyr-centric.

She measured her breathing by the lines in the road; a steady in and out for every fourth white hash mark dividing the two lane highway. Sansa, or was it Alayne now, sat low in the seat of the beat up car, her eyes fixed to the passing road. 

It had been hours since the shootout at the motel and the mood between Littlefinger and herself was tense. She had tried looking towards him, starting a conversation, anything to dispel the silence and anxiety but he was focused on the road, his replies curt and dismissive. Sansa wanted to know where they were headed, when they would get there. Was he okay was on the tip of her tongue but still unspoken.

"Enough." One simple gruff word, spoken with effort. He hadn't even looked at her. With a sigh she resumed her watch of the passing lines.

Hours dragged on and the sterile sepia landscape gave way to the scrub brush, sage, lavender and sequoias of the high desert. Rolling hills turned into mountains proper, their peaks covered with a light dusting of snow. It was a welcome change. It didn’t feel like home but it was closer to it. The Winterfell estate was always surrounded by trees, lush verdant forests. The Godswood a shining example. Sansa thought she had been sick of the country, thought she longed for the vibrant lights and bustling streets of King's Landing. Its tall skyscrapers reached toward the heavens and the ports bringing in ships from all sorts of distant lands. Its riches were now poisoned, the taste sour in her mouth. Cersei and Joffrey had seen to that. 

Her attention was brought rather abruptly back to her companion when the car swerved right kicking up dust on the shoulder. Sansa tried to hang on where she could as Littlefinger overcorrected swinging them into oncoming traffic and then back into the proper lane. 

"What's wrong?" Sansa tried to keep the panic from her voice. She gave him a once over. He looked terrible, worse than when they left the motel. He was gritting his teeth as he steered with his left arm, his right arm held close to his body. He was pale, almost green she would say and a slight sheen of perspiration dotted his brow.

"It's fine."

"You're not fine. You are far from fine. Pull over."

"No."

"You look like you are about to pass out. You nearly ran us off the road. Pull over. Now." Her last command seemed to be the magic word because he looked over his shoulder than pulled off the highway. Littlefinger set the car in park and ran his hand down his face finally seeming to accept his weariness. He turned towards her.

"You're not fine," She repeated quietly.

"No."

What's wrong?"

"Buck shot in my shoulder needs to come out. Infection might be setting in."

"So quickly?"

"Or shock or blood loss, take your pick."

"Are you in a lot of pain?" The question caused an odd flip in her stomach. She didn't care for Littlefinger per say but she didn't want to see him in any amount of real pain. He had gotten her out of King's Landing after all and that's more than anyone else had done for her. 

He breathed in sharply and then sighed, "Yes, quite a bit."

"So we should work on getting those pellets out of you. Maybe getting something for the pain. But I don't think you should be driving."

"And you know how to drive?"

"How hard can it be? My brothers taught my sister Arya and she’s younger than I am.”

“Your sister seems the type who would want to learn.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open and her eyes narrowed, “And you don’t think I can do the same? Or would want to do the same?”

“Only that you’ve always struck me as a lady with a fine lady’s upbringing. A lady always rides in the back.”

‘Well I’ve been doing just fine sitting up here next to you. Besides I haven’t felt like much of a well-bred lady in a while.” She said the last part more to herself remembering her behavior in the motel room. Another aspect of their relationship to go undiscussed. All the better she thought.

He gave her a queer piercing look before glancing away, “Remind me that we’ll have to address that before reaching the Eyrie.”

For a second she thought he was reading her mind but he couldn’t possibly mean what had happened between them. He likely meant that she would need to be on her best, proper behavior when meeting with her aunt. 

“Let’s do this if we’re going to do this.” Littlefinger got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. Sansa slid across the bench into the driver’s seat. 

-*-

Once she got the hang of driving the butterflies in her stomach seemed to subside and even better Littlefinger looked more relaxed as he leaned back into the seat. His eyes fluttered shut and his head drooped slightly before he startled himself awake.

It was late afternoon when they approached a small town.

One hand on the wheel she used the other to nudge his thigh. “Hey, we can get supplies at the general store. It’s just up this street.”

It must have been a sign of his condition that he didn’t have a complaint or a word about keeping their cover. 

She pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. “I’ll get what we need.”

“I’ll come in too.”

“Your sleeve is covered in dried blood.”

Littlefinger looked down as if just now noticing it. “I’ll put a jacket on. There’s something I need and you’re not going to be able to get it.”

She gave him a shrewd look but didn’t say anything as she got out of the car and entered the store, Littlefinger close behind. Sansa spared a glance at the cashier and felt a little better when she saw that it was a young girl around her age reading a magazine as she sat behind the counter. Boredom emanated from her in waves which could be good or bad. As long as they didn’t do anything suspicious they probably wouldn’t attract much interest from the girl. Knowing that she picked up the necessary items (bandages, rubbing alcohol, tweezers, soap, pain killers) and a few items that seemed inconsequential (nail polish, a box of feminine products, a fashion magazine).

Sansa spied Littlefinger by the liquor aisle and she rolled her eyes. She watched as he picked a bottle of something containing a dark amber liquid. He turned and strolled towards her, bottle tucked under his good arm. 

“Is that really what you needed?”

“Its purpose will become evident.”

“I already have rubbing alcohol.”

“It’s not going to be used as a disinfectant.” 

He left her to follow behind him and approached the cashier plunking his bottle down on the counter. Sansa followed suit and emptied her basket. Littlefinger reached out to poke at the nail polish and raised his eyebrow in question. Sansa didn’t feel like explaining her rationale in front of the cashier. Even if she explained it later she was worried it would make her seem silly. The cashier didn’t even blink at their purchases. In fact she barely looked at them at all. And when they paid she immediately went back to reading her magazine and sucking on the straw in her diet cola.

Back in the driver’s seat Sansa pulled out of the lot. “That was easier than I expected. With all our bad luck lately it feels like everyone is out to get us. Like we’ll be recognized wherever we go-”

“Why the nail polish?” 

She looked across to him. The small bottle was in his hand, his thumb lightly stroking the glass. 

“You’ll think I’m being foolish.” 

“Never.” His voice resolute. Sansa’s eyes had strayed back to the road but they found his again when he spoke.

“I didn’t want the cashier to get suspicious so I bought a few general items. Things a girl might need.”

“Not foolish at all.” He continued to stare at the polish. “Do you usually wear this color?”

Why was he so curious about the nail polish? It was just your average shade of cream. “I don’t know, sometimes. It was a color my mother liked to wear…” Her voice trailed off. 

“Yes, I remember.” 

She felt awkward, her face growing warm. Like she was intruding upon a private memory. She knew vaguely that her mother had known Littlefinger growing up. But the extent of that relationship was unknown to her. An inkling of his regard for her mother was evident on his face as he looked at the bottle. He blinked and the look was gone, the polish went back in the bag. 

What would her mother say if she knew what she had done with this man? That it hadn’t been just his idea, his way, his persuading her to compromise her morals. She had started it even if she didn’t quite know how it would turn out. But then her stomach clenched as she remembered her mother would have nothing to say and neither would her father or Robb or Arya, Bran, Rickon. They were all gone. 

She could feel Littlefinger’s eyes on her. He was a perceptive man. He probably knew she was thinking about her family. They could be a maudlin pair together. 

“Where should I go?” she finally managed to ask, swallowing back her grief.

“Head out of town. We’ll find a little used campsite.”

-*-

“Are you ready?” Sansa held the little pair of tweezers in her hand as she sat on the bench of the picnic table. 

“Yes.” He pulled his shirt over his head with determination and straddled the bench in front of her. “Clean the wound first before you do anything.”

Sansa nodded then washed the area with soap and water finishing by splashing it with rubbing alcohol for good measure. Littlefinger grunted and his eyes flashed in irritation.

“Sorry,” she looked sheepishly at him. Next she cleaned the tweezers. “I’m not sure these will be entirely disinfected.”

“They’ll do.”

“Okay, here we go.” She brought the tweezers up to his skin, the other hand resting on his bare chest. His muscle twitched and he breathed in sharply. The instrument had scarcely touched his wound before Littlefinger balked. He stood up and backed away from her. 

“No, I can’t do this sober. I thought I would try but I can’t.”

“That’s why you bought the alcohol?”

“Alcohol is a time honored anesthetic. And the only one available to us.”

“I see. Well by all means get drunk. I’ll wait.” Sansa watched him retrieve the bottle from the passenger seat. He leaned against the hood of the car, removed the cap and took a swig, grimacing a bit as the bitter liquid hit his throat. He kept drinking steadily as the sun set. Sansa wandered over to join him, mesmerized by the brilliant colors of the fading light. 

He hiccupped and held the bottle out to her. Sansa sighed and took a small sip. It was caustic and awful. She coughed and handed it back to him with an angry scowl. He smiled and laughed. 

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Not one I will be acquiring.” 

The moon was beginning to rise over the hills, not yet full, but still bright enough to drown out the stars that were beginning to shine. 

“We’re losing the light Lord Baelish.”

“We’ll move closer to the fire. Will that be good enough?”

“Maybe, let’s see.” She led the way to the campfire retrieving his shirt and the necessary items along the way. “On the ground.” She instructed and tossed the shirt to the dirt.

He considered her words for a few seconds before complying and laid on the ground using his shirt as a pillow beneath his head. “You’re very fond of giving commands.”

She had been about to sit beside him when his words startled her. She blushed and bit the inside of her cheek. “Do you want this done or not?”

“Yes and I thank you for it. I mean that.” He locked eyes with her until she grew uncomfortable and had to look away. 

“I think I have enough light. I’ll begin if you are ready.”

He nodded and took a steadying breath. 

-*-

She dug the tweezers in a little further and winced. He growled through his clenched teeth. It had to be causing him a lot of pain. 

“I can’t do this. It’s too deep.” Sansa complained. They had been at this for the last ten minutes with little success.

He sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them he brought his good hand up to cover the one holding the tweezers. “It’s okay. Sometimes Maesters let the bullets stay in the body. If the wound isn’t bleeding too badly. And this one isn’t. Just clean the wound really well and bandage it. If it gets bad I’ll get it seen to in the Eyrie.”

Sansa didn’t look like she believed him. But she wasn’t a surgeon. And a part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t have to go digging around in his skin any longer.

“You’ll scar.”

He gave a stilted laugh, “I know. I’m familiar with acquiring scars concerning Stark women.”

The alcohol was making his tongue loose. She knew he would ordinarily have never mentioned that. Sansa’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his chest. She vacillated between wanting to ask him for the tale behind it and staying quiet. But she ultimately didn’t have the nerve to ask. Sansa didn’t want to hear another story about her mother and Petyr Baelish. Maybe she was selfish, she didn’t know. 

She reached out tentatively to brush her fingers down the smooth pale skin of the scar. She watched as he swallowed reflexively and felt his chest rise and a fall a little faster now. His eyes were heavy lidded as they stared up at her. Her heart began to beat a little faster and her stomach clenched. 

“Lord Baelish?”

“Call me Petyr.”

She didn’t know if she could do that. Call him Petyr. His motivations were uncertain. Why was he helping her? Risking everything for her? A debt to her mother. Whom he had once loved. Did he love her, Sansa? Was that it? He was certainly attracted to her. And what were her feelings in regard to him? Grateful, yes. Fascinated and attracted to some quality he possessed. Maybe it was what he could do for her. Be her ally amidst everyone that wanted to tear her down. 

“Lord Baelish. I’ll clean the wound and then you should probably sleep.” 

“Yes I prolly should.” He was starting to slur his words now. A sure sign that he was well and truly drunk. She had never seen him inebriated at court. Never imagined that he would allow himself to get that way. It would probably interfere with all the nefarious underhanded dealings he had going on.

With gauze and some soap and water she scrubbed the area free from all remaining blood and then placed a bandage over the wound.

“There, that should hold.” She helped him to sit up but didn’t work on standing yet. Sansa gazed at the glowing campfire, its warmth helped to fight the chill of the forest. Nearby she could hear the river rushing swiftly over boulders and between pine trees. A cool breath on her neck caused her to shiver. Littlefinger’s body was leaning into hers, more by default than by design. 

She wouldn’t admit to herself that she liked it. 

“Come on,” She broke the moment. Sansa helped him to stand and led him to the car. She needed to throw his good arm over her shoulder and heft some of his weight just to get him into the back seat. He collapsed and was out in a matter of minutes, the pain and the alcohol doing him in. 

Sansa sighed and went back to the campfire. The light was fairly hypnotic and allowed her to think in peace. She hated the uncertainty of her situation. She hoped they would make it to the Eyrie. But what then? She barely remembered her Aunt Lysa. Would she take her in? And what of Littlefinger? Would he stay? Go back to King’s Landing? Did she want him to stay? She hated not knowing what she wanted. But there was a time when she was so certain she knew what she wanted. She wanted to go to King’s Landing. She wanted to marry Prince Joffrey. Maybe a little uncertainty wasn’t so bad.

Sansa let the fire dwindle into embers before she joined Littlefinger in the car. She took the front bench. She peeked over the seat to make sure he was still breathing and then she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

She awoke late the next morning to a wrap of knuckles on her driver’s side window. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she peered out the window and saw Littlefinger looking more hale and hearty than she had seen him in days past. Maybe he had just needed a good night’s rest, to let the shock wear off. She opened the door and looked up at him quizzically. 

“How are you feeling? You look better.”

“I feel better.” 

“I’m amazed you’re not more hung-over. The amount you drank. That would have done my brothers in for sure.”

“Maybe it was the excellent care I received.” His smile held the faint trace of a smirk.

“I didn’t even get the bullet out.”

“Not necessary at the moment. I still have most of my range of motion in the arm. And the pain is not as bad as it was yesterday. The pills help.”

They stood, staring at one another. Littlefinger’s expression was unreadable. Sansa didn’t know what to say next so she excused herself and left to find the bathroom. She cleaned up as best as she could in the sink, rinsing out her hair and running her fingers through her now shortened strands. She washed her face and truly looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in days. If she had to guess she wanted to know if she looked any differently. If the past few days, running from King’s Landing, spending time with Littlefinger, the loss of her virginity somehow marked her. But it was hard to tell. There was only a small amount of the old Sansa from Winterfell still there. They say you could tell hardships in the eyes and her eyes looked beaten and sad. Would they ever regain their warmth again? There was very little innocence left to her, she knew that. And she wasn’t talking about her virtue. She took one last appraising look in the mirror and left the bathroom.

Littlefinger was waiting by the car, “Are you hungry?”

She nodded. He gestured for her to get in.

“You’re going to drive?” She queried.

“I feel up to the challenge.”

“Just don’t run us off the road again.”

He smiled and jumped into the driver’s seat.

They didn’t travel very far down the road before stopping at a little diner. “I promised you real food, remember.”

“I remember asking. I don’t remember you ever replying.”

The inside was lined with slick vinyl booths and the walls were covered in well preserved mining gear and photographs of days gone by. An old country tune played softly in the background. They were shown to their seats and handed a menu by an old man. Sansa mused that he might have come straight out of the aged stills on the wall. 

They both ordered burgers and milk shakes since that seemed to be the specialty of the house and waited for their food to arrive. 

She’d been wanting to ask him a question for days but it seemed like they never had a moment to breath. Now might be as good a time as any.

“What’s going to happen when we get to the Eyrie?”

“It’s difficult to say.”

He was being cagey and she didn’t like it. “Difficult because you don’t know or difficult because whatever you have planned is complicated.” 

“Maybe a little of both. Your aunt can be unpredictable. But she is your aunt and will no doubt welcome one of her blood with open arms.” Littlefinger raised his folded hands to his mouth. “But we must be careful as well. No one else must know who you truly are. We don’t know who we can trust yet.” 

“And what exactly are to be our roles there?” She wanted to know if he was going to leave her there and disappear. 

“Leave that to me. For now know that it may be necessary for you to take on the role of…kin of some sort.”

“Kin? Like your niece?” She reasoned, trying to work out what he was saying.

“I have no siblings to speak of.”

She swallowed roughly as realization dawned. “You want me to pretend to be your daughter.” 

“A bastard daughter since I also have no wife.

“Alayne Stone, truly.” She muttered.

“Yes.”

She was quiet after that. The food came but she didn’t feel like eating. Instead she picked at it and drank her milkshake. Littlefinger’s appetite seemed to be unaffected by his announcement.

“You will be well cared for. I hope you know that.” 

She wasn’t thinking about that but Littlefinger’s eyes seemed earnest. So she smiled and pretended that that was what she was worried about. Not her misgivings about the roles she played in this man’s life. 

They were on the road again just before noon, stopping for gas before hitting a steep mountain pass. They were getting closer to their destination. She could feel it. And with each turn she grew more and more anxious. Logically she knew there was at least a day left in their travels. And that they would be stopping at his ancestral home first before moving on to the Eyrie. She couldn’t place her anxiety at first but when she figured it out a feeling of dread filled her. She realized that she didn’t want things to change. She’d grown used to this strange road show of her and Littlefinger, _just_ her and Littlefinger. Things would change in the Eyrie. It wouldn’t be just the two of them against the world. She’d come to rely on him and she had been able to hold her own and help him. She was proud of that. When would she get that opportunity again? Would they be able to talk, just the two of them? Surely not. It probably wouldn’t be proper. But maybe with her acting as his daughter things would be a little more lax. But she wouldn’t ever get to do the things she imagined or fantasized about with him. Things she was slowly willing to admit she thought about. They were meant for much different lives. 

They had reached a high point in the mountain pass and were starting to make their descent into the valley floor below. Sansa tried to control her breathing, measure it against the reflectors on the guardrails they passed or by counting the quaking aspen on the side of the road. But her chest felt heavy. It annoyingly felt like she might cry and she did not want to give in to that. Not with Littlefinger in the car to watch her. Would he console her? How embarrassing when she had tried to be so very strong. 

She turned to watch his profile, to drink him in before everything was made different. In all her time in the city she had never seen him this undone. His hair was ruffled, his clothes crumpled, he needed to shave. When he looked at her then his grey-green eyes were surprisingly soft. Where was the shrewd, calculating Petyr Baelish of King’s Landing? The one who enjoyed fooling everyone, going head to head with Varys with who had the better spies and information. The lord she had known held a tight mask over his features because he couldn’t get the things he wanted done if people knew what he was really about.

No, when she looked at him now she just saw the man. She just saw Petyr. And it hurt to realize that she wanted him. Confusing as everything else in her life may be, that point was clear. But she couldn’t have him.

She looked away and then suddenly couldn’t stand to be in the car with him a second longer.

“Pull over,” she gasped. And then repeated herself more firmly, “Please, pull over. I’m going to be sick.” 

The car came to a halt at the side of the road and she bolted into a nearby clearing. She ran and ran and ran. Sansa wasn’t really concerned with where she was going only that she was trying to outrun the tightening feeling around her heart and the voices in her head confusing her. They told her that what she was feeling was wrong and sick but on the other hand that he was the only good thing in her life right now. But even that wouldn’t matter once they got to the Eyrie. 

She ran out of steam as she approached the tree line and slowed to a walk. 

“Sansa?” She turned as she heard him shout over her shoulder, slightly out of breath. He had followed her into the meadow. Ran too by the looks of it.

She continued walking into the tree line towards the other meadow beyond it. She could see the bright afternoon light reflecting off the grass in the distance acting as a beacon through the dense forest. 

“Protecting your investments?” She replied haughtily.

“Simply making sure you were alright.” He said sanguinely, lengthening his stride to catch up with her.

“I wasn’t running away if that’s what you were concerned about. I just…I just couldn’t breathe. I don’t know. I needed air.”

“I can understand that. A lot is going to change Sansa. But I promise you it will be for your benefit.”

She shook her head, “You say that but I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“You haven’t had very much reason to trust those around you. I don’t blame you.”

They reached the meadow beyond the trees and she stopped, her eyes surveying the landscape. This would surely be the last time they would be alone together, truly alone, not a soul around for miles. It was heady and liberating. 

“This isn’t all for my benefit. What do you get out of this? Bringing me to my aunt.” She wanted to see a little bit of the old Litterfinger return. The one with the plans and the wit and the charm. Littlefinger she could understand. Petyr, the man, unnerved her. 

He was looking out at the vista as well, seemingly lost in thought. She thought he wasn’t going to reply but his answer was quiet almost lost to the wind.

“I’m going to marry her.”

“My Aunt Lysa?”

He nodded slightly.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head again. “What does this mean? What about us? What about everything that’s happened between us. Does it mean nothing?” She hated the way she sounded, desperate, a fool. 

He turned to her now and placed his hands on her shoulders bringing her closer. “This is the way of things, Sansa. This is how we get ahead. This is how we win the game.”

“What if I don’t want to play? We can go, run. Just get in the car and keep following the road.”

“We don’t get a choice in this life. We play the game or we die. So we play to survive. And with luck we come out on top.” He sighed, closed his eyes and brought his forehead down to lightly touch her own. “Oh Sansa, there are some things in life we must do because we have to, not because we necessarily want to. And there are some things we are most desperate to do, to want, but find we cannot have.”

She felt calm, in control, even though her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She could have this moment, with him, if she chose.

“Kiss me,” She made her decision.

“Is that a command?” He smirked with amusement.

“I don’t care what it is.”

Littlefinger…no, Petyr, leaned back and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He moved down to kiss the tip of her nose. It twitched and she suppressed a laugh. Petyr kissed the line of her jaw and her eyes fell shut. She was embarrassed to feel pressure build behind her lids, like she was going to cry. But no tears fell. Finally Petyr reached her mouth and his kiss was achingly sweet. His hands came up to cup the sides of her face and he deepened the kiss. 

Sansa stepped back and pulled her shirt over her head. She wanted to make clear exactly what she wanted. And this time she wouldn’t lose control, wouldn’t let herself be used. She ran her hands over his exposed shirt and tugged his jacket off. He helped by taking his own shirt off. 

Grabbing his hand she led him further into the sun drenched meadow so that the heat of the orb’s strong rays could warm her back. 

Her hands reached for the button at the top of his jeans but he pushed her fingers away and undid it himself, sliding the zipper down and pushing his pants down his legs. She took the time to remove her bra and then shimmy out of her skirt and underwear. Her tennis shoes were easy to remove and soon she was bare in front of him. Petyr had sat to take off his own shoes and finish removing his pants but he paused to take in her nude form.

She swallowed and suddenly couldn’t handle the difference in heights. It was unequal. It harkened back to the cheap motel room where things were out of control. One of them dominating the other and then everything being flipped on its head. She wanted them to have a mutual interest in what happened between them. She wanted things to be different. Sansa hoped he was capable of it. 

She got down beside him on her knees and waited for him to finish undressing. When he was done he mirrored her position. Sansa reached out her hand and stroked the side of his face, the rough stubble tickling her palm. Bringing him a little closer she kissed his forehead then each of his cheeks and finally his mouth returning his initial actions in kind. Petyr’s arms wrapped around her tightly and quickly they were falling to the earth. But the descent was gentle, done with care under Petyr’s guidance. 

She found herself on top of him, skin to skin. The feeling was electric. Her skin prickled and she felt desire well up inside her. Sansa sat up, thighs on each side of his waist, so she could see him better. She ran her hands up his chest.

“I want…I want…Petyr?” She shook her head, not really knowing what she was saying, just feeling the compulsion to try to explain her emotions.

“I know.” 

But how could he know how she truly felt. How she had to put all her feelings into one final act. Then bottle them away for good.

Sansa smiled softly and it was sad. Finally a tear slipped unbidden from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away. Petyr wrapped an arm around her waist and she felt herself lifted onto him. She closed her eyes at the feeling of fullness. 

They moved, together as one, as if they had been meant to do this all along. She opened her eyes to look at him and was surprised at what she saw. He looked…reverent. As if she were his whole world in that instant. Maybe she was being hyperbolic. Maybe she wanted him to feel a bit of what she was feeling.

He reached up and weaved his hand through her short dark locks. “I never should have made you cut your hair. You were perfect…No,” he stopped and seemed to reconsider his words,” You still are.”

She kissed his jaw, the side of his mouth and then found his lips. He sat up suddenly so she was in his lap still straddling his hips. The position was somehow more intimate. This was nothing like the motel where she felt like an object of Petyr’s lust not an equal partner. She wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to tell her this time but he was certainly doing it with his body and not his words. 

They moved, slowly, lazily. For once there didn’t seem to be a rush. The Eyrie could wait. There was only this moment in the meadow. She vacillated between gazing into his eyes and when that became too much she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. He seemed to understand. 

Petyr ran his hands up and down her spine and she shivered. When she came her breath hitched and she clung hard to Petyr’s back. Sansa felt him stiffen beneath her, her name whispered into her hair.

He laid them down in the grass, her head on his heart, an arm around her. Sansa watched the wisps of white clouds travel across the cerulean sky. The wind brought little bumps to the surface of her skin. 

No words were spoken. No oaths given. No proclamations of love. There was no room for that in the game they were about to reenter. But for right now it was still the two of them against the world. 

-*-

They walked hand in hand back to the car.

“We can’t do this again when we get to the Eyrie. There are eyes everywhere. No one must find fault in our behavior.”

“I know.” She resigned herself to her situation.

He stopped in front of the car and brought her hand up to his lips. Petyr then opened the passenger side door for her to get in and walked around to take his place in the driver’s seat. 

“We’re near to The Fingers. That’s where we’ll stop first. I believe Lysa might even be meeting us there.”

She nodded solemnly and Petyr moved them back on the road. 

-*-

She had known there was a difference between Littlefinger and Petyr Baelish and definitely a difference between the Littlefinger she knew in King’s Landing and the Petyr she had grown to discover over the last few days. But it hadn’t been as apparent as when they arrived at The Fingers. 

They were immediately whisked away by staff to bathe and change. The clothes were not as fine as the tailored couture she had in the city but they were nice enough. When she saw Petyr again he looked as handsome as he ever did in King’s Landing: shaved, groomed and outfitted in a bespoke suit. His mask however was firmly in place, no hint of the man from the meadow who gently kissed her brow then made love to her in the grass. His charm and wit were on full display. His staff members, who rarely saw him, were delighted by his presence and intrigued by this supposed long lost daughter he had brought along. 

And her meeting with her Aunt Lysa went…well. However there was something there, in Lysa’s eyes she couldn’t quite comprehend. And when Sansa looked towards Petyr for guidance the strange look in Lysa’s eyes grew stronger. But he was able to take her aunt in hand and distract her, lavish her with praise until she was fluttering like a young maid. Petyr played the game and he played it well. 

And if Petyr played, then she would play too.


End file.
